The Epic Stars
by sapphyra
Summary: NOW COMPLETED! When Uhura and McCoy are taken hostage by Klingons, Kirk and Spock must team up to lead the Enterprise on a rescue mission to save their friends. The journey brings them closer than they had ever imagined. KirkSpock slash
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Star Trek movies/series and am not profiting from this story in any way. Story title taken from the poem of the same name by Robinson Jeffers.

**A/n: **The first parts of this story alternate between the current timeline and events from three days prior. Hopefully I've separated them clearly enough to keep from being confusing. Estimated story length will be three to four chapters with updates once a week. Please enjoy!

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* * *

There is the stuff for an epic poem –_

_This magnificent raid at the heart of darkness, this lost battle –_

_We don't know enough, we'll never know._

_Oh happy Homer, taking the stars and the Gods for granted._

- from _The Epic Stars_ by Robinson Jeffers

* * *

Captain James Tiberius Kirk had been the leader of the USS Enterprise, the best and most prestigious ship in all of Starfleet, for the past eight months. During his first few hours as captain of the vessel, Kirk had destroyed a Romulan ship and its crew who had wiped out billions of lives and planned on eliminating even more. In the process Kirk saved the entire Earth – and made friends with an icily proper half-Vulcan, a friendship which he considered at least as large an achievement as all the rest put together. Right now, however, Kirk was burying his woes in a sodden, sticky bar in Iowa, and wasn't interested in seeing said friend, or anyone else, until he had gotten too stinking drunk to remember his own name.

Spock showed up anyway.

The smooth black hair atop his head glistened in the bar's fuzzy neon light as Spock stood still in the doorway, his eyes darting around until they found Kirk where he sat, slumped in a dingy corner table and nursing a mostly empty bottle. The pointy-eared alien smoothly navigated through tables and noisy patrons until he reached Kirk's table and sat, with perfect posture, in the chair in front of him.

Kirk sighed. "Hello, Mr. Spock. What are you doing here?"

"I came to tell you that there is no other action you could have taken that would not have resulted in the loss of the entire crew. Your logic was sound. It is pointless to regret your choices now."

Trust a Vulcan to get right to the point. "How did you find me?"

"I had some assistance from Mr. Scott."

"Damn it, Scotty," Kirk muttered. "Should've known he'd have a big mouth."

"How you were located is beside the point, Captain. I am sorry for the loss of Dr. McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura, but the rest of your crew needs you now. Drowning your woes with the use of alcohol aids no one."

"Sure helps me," Kirk retorted. "And they don't need a captain who sends his crewmates out to die."

"The condition of our crewmates is still unknown. There was also every indication that their mission would not be hostile; otherwise the ship's doctor would never have gone out unsupported. Captain, you could not have known," Spock replied gently.

"Bones is my friend! I should have gone after him myself! I'm just a damned selfish coward of a bastard." Kirk dropped his head atop the arm he had stretched across the table and scrubbed his hair – which had grown slightly too long – with his free hand. Grease slicked the tips of his fingers.

"That is untrue. Your parents were wed at the time of your birth. The rest, however, I will not dispute," Spock replied. One corner of his upper lip lifted slightly in what might have passed for a smile, had anyone been looking at the time.

Kirk snorted into his shirtsleeve. "Was that a joke? I guess you really are part human if you can even joke around at inappropriate times."

"My timing is not inappropriate. I sense you are in need of reassurance, which humans often derive from levity."

"You really are a kick in the teeth, Commander," Kirk muttered. He rolled his head to the left until one bleary blue eye peered up at the other's pale, solemn face. "What about Uhura? You should be even more torn up than me. They're both out there suffering, maybe dead, because of what I did and you're chasing after me to comfort me? You should hate me."

"While hate is one of the emotions I have felt most strongly, I could never apply such a feeling to you, Captain." Spock glanced down at the table and inhaled slowly and deeply before meeting Kirk's eyes. "And while I am greatly concerned for the welfare of both Lieutenant Uhura and Dr. McCoy, I am not as troubled as you may think. You see, there is no longer a romantic relationship between Lieutenant Uhura and myself."

Kirk sat up straight in surprise. "You dumped her!" A greasy tendril of hair fell into his wide eyes as he stared at the other, and Kirk swept it aside impatiently.

"Your assumption is incorrect," Spock answered wearily. "It was the Lieutenant's decision to pursue a relationship elsewhere."

"But…why? When? You guys never even seemed upset or anything," the captain pressed.

"Neither the Lieutenant nor I would allow such a thing as fraternization between crew members to emotionally compromise our ability to perform our professional duties."

"No, I guess you wouldn't," Kirk muttered to himself. "I wish you would've told me, though."

"So you could have taken the opportunity to pursue her yourself?" Spock retorted acidly.

"So I could have taken you out drinking." Kirk grinned; but then, remembering himself, dropped his head in the palms of his hands and groaned. "What does it matter, anyway? They're still our crew members and our friends and they're in trouble because of me! Spock, I have to save them!"

"I know." The dark-haired man took a deep breath. "Captain, I would like to explain to you the circumstances in which my relationship with the Lieutenant ended."

"You don't have to do that," Kirk mumbled into his sleeve.

"I believe it is important for you to know," Spock insisted. "As you are aware, I loved my mother a great deal. So did my father, as he claims. However, as much as I am grateful for the time and experiences I had with Lieutenant Uhura, my relationship with her failed to elicit the level of emotional response either I or my father had for my late mother. Uhura slowly became aware of this, and she eventually ended the relationship when no such emotional response ensued."

"In other words, you didn't love her." Curious despite himself, Kirk sat up straight and scratched at his greasy brown hair. His first officer rarely spoke this much about his personal life, and Kirk wondered at the reasons for it now. He wasn't about to stop a good thing though, especially since getting into Spock's head was usually next to impossible.

"No, I suppose I did not. She was wise to end the union. As she commented at the time, even you were able to evoke more emotion from me than she, although those emotions were typically anger and frustration."

Kirk laughed at that. "Sorry, Commander."

Spock gazed at him intently. "No, I do not believe that you are sorry. However, there is no need to apologize. Her assertion that you are the person most able to rouse emotion in me is correct, and I am grateful for that ability. Because of your influence I am better able to maintain the human aspects of myself. I am certain my mother would have wanted that."

Kirk raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of that. "Uh… You're welcome."

"The truth is, Jim…I consider you my most dear friend. It is you, not Lieutenant Uhura, who is my most important person. I wish you to know that I will help you in every endeavor you undertake, no matter the cost, though I will insist that you consider the logic of your actions beforehand. In short, I know how much you want to rescue the doctor and the lieutenant. I want to help you."

A full-fledged smile finally broke out on Kirk's face. He clapped a hand on Spock's shoulder. "Alright then, friend. Let's go."

* * *

**Three Days Earlier…**

"Captain, we're receiving a transmission from a nearby luxury cruise vessel. It sounds like a distress signal."

Kirk spun slowly in his padded leather chair to face his Communications Officer. "Well, patch it through, then, Lieutenant."

Uhura chewed her bottom lip worriedly before responding. "It's in Klingon, sir."

"Klingon?" Kirk swung the chair back to the left and glanced at the blue-clad officer standing beside him. "What are Klingons doing out here? We're hardly out of the solar system."

"It is unclear to me as well, Captain," Spock answered in his typical too-proper fashion.

"Can you translate it, Uhura?" Kirk asked.

"Of course." She swung her long ponytail back over her shoulder as if offended.

"Go ahead then."

"Yes sir." The sound of fingers clicking across a console was soon replaced by a tinny recording of a woman's voice making noises unintelligible to all but the dark-skinned officer standing behind Kirk. "Please help," Uhura said quietly, after listening for a moment. "Please help my daughter. There has been an outbreak… A virus. Everyone is dead. My daughter… she's so sick. Please help us."

Kirk and Spock glanced at each other. "Lieutenant Sulu, can you bring up a visual?" Spock asked after a moment.

"Yes, Commander." A few seconds later the image of a spaceship appeared on the screen in front of them. "Monitoring ship's condition," Sulu announced. "It appears to be functioning normally. It's fine."

"I'll say," Kirk muttered. The ship, nearly twice the size of the Enterprise, boasted a snow-white hull that practically gleamed and as many windows as were physically possible. Letters he couldn't read announced the vessel's name in a mossy green. This was definitely no warship. "Hail them, Mr. Sulu. Uhura, you translate. Please."

Silence reigned over the bridge for a few minutes as Sulu attempted to hail the other vessel. Kirk leaned back against his seat cushion and glanced over once more at Spock, who stood silent and stoic as ever. He wondered what Spock was thinking; Kirk had a bad feeling lurking in his gut. Klingons, so close to Earth… and a distress signal from a ship that put the Enterprise engineers to shame…

"I've got something, Captain!" Sulu called triumphantly. He tapped a button on his console and the ship's image was replaced by a woman's tear-streaked face. Her black hair hung limp and matted over the dark, ridged forehead of a Klingon. When she saw the Enterprise crew her brown eyes widened and she began babbling at top speed.

Kirk motioned for Uhura to come and stand beside him, which she did, smoothing her short red skirt and glancing under her eyelashes at Spock. "This is Captain Kirk of the Federation starship USS Enterprise. We received a distress signal from this vessel. What is your status?" Kirk addressed the woman slowly, giving Uhura time to translate his words.

Tears streamed down the woman's cheeks as she started babbling again, near hysterics. "She says everyone aboard the ship is dead but her daughter and herself. A few weeks ago a sudden virus broke out… Vomiting, cramps…" Uhura cleared her throat. "…and severe diarrhea. They've been drifting all this time because there's been no one to pilot the ship. She's begging us to send a doctor to help her daughter."

"And they just happened to drift to right outside Earth's solar system?"

Uhura put Kirk's question to the Klingon woman, who seemed confused by it. The lieutenant smiled slightly at the woman's answer. "She says, 'What does it matter where we end up? Do you not have someone who can help my daughter?'"

"Should we beam them aboard, Captain?" Spock asked.

Kirk didn't answer immediately. Instead he studied the woman on the screen in front of him. Tears streaked silently down her face and she wiped them impatiently away, along with the sweat dripping from her forehead into her eyes. Kirk motioned Spock closer and, when the pointy-eared man stood close beside him, gestured to the screen in front of them. "Why isn't she sick?" he questioned quietly, so the rest of the crew couldn't hear. "If the entire ship is wiped out, why is she still here? She's definitely been exposed to something if her daughter is as sick as she claims."

"Her perspiration level would suggest she has a fever," Spock responded.

"That or she's nervous about something." He punched the communicator on his sweater. "Bones! We need your expertise."

"I'll bet you do," came the less than polite reply.

Kirk grinned at the careful lack of expression on Spock's face, though he quickly turned more serious. "Do you know of a disease that can wipe out a whole ship almost at once? From diarrhea and vomiting?"

"Well… Yes, Jim, but…" Dr. McCoy hesitated. "There is one disease I know of that could do something like that… It's called cholera, but it's been extinct on Earth for hundreds of years."

"How about in Klingons?"

"Klingons? What the hell are you doing up there, Jim?"

"Answer the question, Bones."

"I don't know. Klingons are close enough to humans genetically to catch the disease, theoretically, but there hasn't been a case of it in three hundred years."

"Could you treat it?"

"Yes, of course, all they would need are some antibiotics and plenty of fluids, but…"

"Alright then, I'll have Scotty beam a couple of sick aliens into your sick bay. Put your doctor's gloves on, Bones."

"_No_!" Kirk jumped and the bridge crew spun around in their seat at the vehemence of the reply. "You can't do that, Jim! If it's like you're saying this disease wiped out an entire ship. Cholera is extremely contagious as it is. Even worse, since it's been gone on Earth for hundreds of years, no one here has any immunity to it whatsoever. The ship could be wiped out in a matter of hours!"

Kirk sat quietly for a moment. "Then what are you suggesting we do, Doctor? I'm not about to send a crew out to a Klingon ship, no matter what its condition. However, as a member of the Federation we are obligated to provide assistance where needed. I can't just leave them to die." Even though the bad feeling still lingered somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

"Damn it Jim, I'm a doctor, not a strategist!" Bones retorted. He sighed audibly. "Alright. Send me out there. I can gear up and avoid contact with the bacteria, and it won't be so dangerous for me. No one's going to hurt a doctor on a peaceful mission."

"I'll go, too, Captain," Uhura spoke up. "He'll need a translator."

Kirk studied her, thinking. It seemed like the best option available to him, as much as he hated to send anyone out. He would have preferred to beam the two sick women aboard and get the hell out of there, but if Bones was right he would be risking the whole ship. This felt risky too, though. He didn't trust Klingons, no matter the situation. McCoy was right, however, that if something were to happen a doctor by himself would seem a lot less threatening than an away team armed to the teeth.

"Very well, Lieutenant." Kirk stood and walked toward the elevator, motioning for Spock and Uhura to join him. "Bones, gear up. You and Uhura get in there, give them what they need, and get out. Mr. Sulu, try to contact the closest Federation base. Let them know there's a quarantined Klingon ship floating around out here."

"I'm on it, Captain!"

"I'll have to burn my favorite pair of boxers after this," grumbled McCoy.

"Shut up, Bones."

* * *

Although Kirk would never be sure if it was just Iowa or bars in general, getting into them was always so much easier than getting out. The bar patrons who had so easily ignored Spock when he came in had swarmed the men when they went to the bar to pay Kirk's tab. Of course, these patrons were made up of Kirk's childhood friends and neighbors and most of them were usually in awe at the sight of any alien, let alone one from a newly endangered species like the Vulcans. Maybe it had just taken a few minutes for them to work up the courage to talk to him.

Kirk's ears reddened at the inebriated comments directed toward them as he attempted to flag down the bartender for the third time.

"So you work with Jimmy on that battleship?"

"What's someone like you doing in a place like this, eh? I thought aliens were bad with alcohol…"

"You sure are a handsome one, even with those ears. Jim always did like them pretty, though."

Spock and Kirk exchanged a startled glance at the last comment and Kirk hurriedly put a little more space between them, his face heating. From the twitch of the other's eyebrow, however, Kirk knew Spock thought it was funny. He was getting better at reading Spock's miniscule signs of emotion.

Finally, the bartender headed his way and Kirk paid him, ready to get out of there and started on his mission. The Federation might never approve it but Spock was behind him and that was all he needed. The rest of the crew would follow them, he just knew it. They trusted their captain and first officer to do the right thing.

Which was why it had hurt so much when he let them down.

"I'm done." Kirk stuck his money card in the back pocket of the Starfleet regulation pants he still wore and smoothed his gold sweater.

"Let us be on our way, then."

The two walked outside into the brisk night, their breath forming little puffs of smoke in the air ahead of them. Spock reached for his communicator badge but Kirk stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Not just yet. I have something I need to return first." The captain walked a few paces to the right, where a sleek black motorcycle sat parked at an angle. He slung his leg over the side, plopped down in the seat, and grinned cheekily at Spock. "A friend's been keeping it safe for me. It's good for clearing the head."

Both of Spock's angled black eyebrows rose near his hairline. "Such a vehicle is unsafe without the proper protective gear."

Still grinning, Kirk tossed him a helmet. "You should probably tuck your ears underneath it," he informed Spock. When the other still hesitated, he added, "If you're afraid you can go ahead and call Scotty to beam you out. I'll be along as soon as I get my bike back."

Spock slid on the helmet and buckled it under his chin. "I have not experienced the human emotion of fear."

"That's good to know." Kirk started the engine as Spock climbed stiffly onto the motorcycle behind him. "Hold on tight." With that he kicked off the bike stand and drove off, out of the parking lot and onto the dirt road that led away from the bar. Spock's arms locked tight around his chest, and Kirk could feel the Vulcan's body heat seeping through his sweater against his back.

"You need to wear a helmet too, Jim," Spock called out over the rush of freezing wind whistling past their ears.

"I'll be fine," Kirk replied. And, honestly, he felt better at the moment than he had for the past three days. The wind whipped his hair and brought color back into his cheeks. It felt good. So did the knowledge of Spock at his back – literally – while they sped freely down the road ahead. Kirk felt invincible.

Just then, a truck zoomed out from a hidden side road and spun sideways in front of them, blocking the road. "Hey!" Kirk shouted and jerked the wheel to the left, sending clouds of dust flying as the motorcycle changed directions in a blink. He slammed down the brake but it was too late, and the motorcycle careened over a ditch at the road's shoulder and into a cornfield. Kirk felt a bump and then he was flying over the handlebars, slamming his shoulder on the hard ground.

Kirk lay there for a moment, dazed, before sitting up to assess his injuries. He started to roll his shoulders but gasped as white-hot pain seared through his entire left side. His left arm wouldn't move – it dangled limply from where the skin stretched several centimeters below his left shoulder. "Dislocated. Damn," he hissed. He crawled to his knees, gripping his left elbow in his right hand.

"Spock! Where are you?" Kirk struggled to his feet, gritting his teeth at the pulsing pain it caused, and swept his gaze around the surrounding area. A large patch of corn lay flat and trampled around his feet and slightly ahead of him where the motorcycle laid, its engine still sputtering. Its cracked headlight illuminated the fuzzy green underside of corn stalks for several meters. "Spock?"

Suddenly the pulsing in his arm turned to searing pain and Kirk screamed aloud as bone, muscle, and tendon in his shoulder moved and stretched – and snapped back into place. As the spots in his eyes cleared, Kirk's eyes focused on a helmet-clad alien with crusted green blood under his nose. Spock, looking decidedly disapproving, stood beside him gripping Kirk's left arm firmly with both hands. "I cautioned you to wear protective gear, Jim," he reminded Kirk.

"Heh. Thanks." Spock removed his hands but Kirk could still feel the touch, throbbing hotly, for several minutes. He scrubbed his sandy brown hair with both hands to get out some of the dust and watched the world fall into darkness as Spock shut off the motorcycle engine and turned out its light. "I'm gonna pummel that punk who made me wreck my bike," he complained.

"I agree; this was no accident," Spock answered, and the two trudged through the trampled cornstalks and back over the ditch onto the road.

A navy blue truck peppered with rust spots sat parked lengthwise across both lanes of the road, and two teenage boys leaned against the driver's side door, laughing and talking loudly. One pointed in Kirk's direction as he and Spock climbed out of the ditch and both boys erupted in laughter once again. "I am experiencing the human emotion of irritation with these young men," Spock commented.

"Yeah, I'm with you on that one." Kirk rubbed his shoulder – which still throbbed dully – and shouted in the boys' direction. "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing out here?"

"Oooh," one of the teens scoffed. They snickered.

"I'm serious! You could have killed us! And you owe me a new motorcycle."

The taller of the two, a gangly redhead, leaned over and spat on the ground. "Don't owe you nothing. Not our fault you drove into a field."

Rage swept over Kirk from the soles of his feet to the tips of his reddening ears. "Alright, that's it." He cracked his knuckles and stomped over to the redheaded teen, swinging his fist back as he moved so he and his fist met the kid's face at the same time. The impact sent the teen's head flying backward to collide with the truck and he crumpled to the ground, blood spurting from his nose.

Kirk instantly spun to the other teen and connected with a punch to the gut that had the other bent over and wheezing in a blink. He followed it up by grabbing the teen's head and slamming his knee into the boy's jaw. The boy screamed and clutched his face, sinking to his knees.

Kirk let out a deep breath and wiped his bloody palms on his pants legs. "You should really think twice before wrecking people's—" Hands closed like a vice around Kirk's windpipe, cutting off the rest of his words. Kirk frantically yanked at the arms around his neck, twisting and turning in an attempt to throw off the body clinging to his back. He could feel his vision starting to go black.

Suddenly the hands went limp, and the redheaded boy draped over his back slid down and fell to the ground, unconscious. Spock stood behind him, looking cool and unruffled. He had even cleaned up his bloody nose, though he still wore the motorcycle helmet. "Thanks again," Kirk gasped, trying to get his lungs used to breathing air again. "You've got to teach me that Vulcan neck pinch thing."

"It is not something easily learned by outsiders."

"Oh." Kirk put a hand against the side of the truck, fighting dizziness. He closed his eyes. "Right."

Warm hands reached around his back and lifted him upright. He opened his eyes to help the helmeted Spock drape Kirk's unhurt arm over Spock's shoulders so he could rest against the Vulcan's side. "I will call for Mr. Scott to beam us back aboard the Enterprise. We can contact insurance and have a towing company retrieve your vehicle from there."

Kirk's eyes drifted closed again and he nodded, smiling slightly. Trust a Vulcan to take care of every little detail… "Heh. Our rescue mission hasn't started out too great, huh Spock?"

"On the contrary, Captain. We make an excellent team."

* * *

Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy was gearing up against contagions unknown. Technically, he knew the risks and the symptoms of cholera, but there was no being sure that he had even guessed this mystery disease correctly, let alone the chances of it mutating into some monster of a virus that no one could predict. So, he figured, it was better to be prepared.

"Bones, did you really need to wear a HAZMAT suit?" Jim Kirk asked, quirking one of his sandy brown eyebrows.

McCoy pressed the button on the front of his mask that let his voice be heard through the speakers. "I'm not taking any chances, Jim. I'm a doctor, not a psychic. Lieutenant Uhura, I have a suit for you, too." He released the button and watched his fellow crewmates assembled in the transporter bay take in the outfits with varied reactions. For the occasion, he had donned a biohazard suit, a white plastic ensemble that zipped up the front and came with an attachable headpiece of clear plastic. The outfit resembled an old-fashioned astronaut's space suit.

Uhura stared at McCoy for a long moment; then switched her incredulous gaze to the suit set aside for her. Her full, black eyelashes swept her cheekbones as she blinked her wide brown eyes. "Dr. McCoy, are you sure this is necessary? Can we not just wear face masks and gloves?"

McCoy pressed the speaker button again. "There's no known vaccine for cholera since the disease died out mostly on its own. And we don't know if that's even what we're facing. Whatever it is, it wiped out a whole ship. I would think that Jim and the Commander here would want you to be as safe as possible."

Spock nodded impassively, his arms crossed over his chest. "The doctor makes a valid point."

"Yeah," Jim agreed, the grin spreading across his face a perfect contrast to the pokerfaced alien beside him. "I think you should put on the suit, Lieutenant."

Uhura narrowed her eyes but didn't seem to dare talking back to the captain too much, probably because she had volunteered for this mission, after all. "Great. Just great," she muttered under her breath.

"Do you require assistance getting into the suit?" Spock asked, seemingly oblivious to the way Uhura's chocolate brown face darkened at the question.

She hesitated. "Yes, that would be nice, thank you."

The two stepped into the next room for some privacy and McCoy exchanged glances with Jim. He could tell the other was struggling not to comment – or laugh. Well, he supposed it was better to leave everyone in good spirits instead of worrying about him and the Lieutenant. Nodding to Scotty, who sat uncharacteristically silent at his post, McCoy shouldered his backpack with medical supplies and stepped up onto the transporter pad to wait for Uhura.

"I think that's the first time a man's asked his girl if she needed help getting _into_ her clothes," Jim said. Apparently he couldn't resist making that comment, after all.

McCoy laughed, as was expected, and winked at his friend. "You never saw my ex-wife."

He and the captain were still laughing when the doors to the transporter bay hissed, letting Spock and Uhura back into the sterile, white room. Uhura had pulled her long black hair down into a low ponytail at the base of her neck so as not to interfere with the white plastic helmet she now wore. She walked slightly bowlegged in the suit, and held her arms straight out to the sides, like one of the old 1960s astronauts first landing on the moon.

Although she looked distinctly unhappy, Uhura tromped her wide-legged march up to the transport pad and stood beside McCoy. She fumbled for the speaker button. "Alright, let's go."

"You heard her, Scotty," Jim put in.

"Good luck, Nyota," Spock added softly.

McCoy nodded to Jim and the Vulcan, watching as their serious faces melted away and faded into the walls of a foreign spaceship. After taking a moment to orient themselves, he and Uhura glanced around at their new surroundings; an enormous, spacious room lit by a pale blue light, with one entire wall consisting only of glass. He could see the Enterprise where she waited, hovering nearby against a backdrop of stars. Round tables covered in dark blue tablecloths littered the room, and a bar lit by colorful neon lights nestled in one corner.

"Never thought the Klingons would go for a ship this nice," McCoy commented.

"Yes, I know," Uhura agreed. "Well, this room's empty at least. I half expected to see bodies every— Oh!"

The brunet doctor spun to see what had caught Uhura's attention and caught sight of a Klingon woman with a wet face and stringy hair. He fumbled for his phaser. "Who are you?" McCoy demanded.

Uhura stopped him with a hand to his arm. "Doctor, this is the woman who contacted the ship. She and her daughter are sick." The Lieutenant turned to the woman and said something in Klingon.

"Hello," the woman responded in perfect, if accented, English. "My name is Marga. Thank the stars you are here."

McCoy and Uhura exchanged glances. "You speak English?" Uhura asked incredulously.

"Yes," Marga replied. "Again, thank you for coming. Please know that I am sorry."

"Whoa, hang on now!" McCoy fumbled desperately in his pack, but it was too late. The last thing he saw was the phaser Marga pulled from behind her back and aimed straight at his face before the world went black. He never felt his head hit the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n:** Thank you so much to all who reviewed! I love getting feedback from readers. There is one last flashback scene in this chapter and it'll bring us back to present time. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 2**

When Jim Kirk arrived back in the Enterprise transporter bay after his short but eventful trip to Earth, his head was pounding, his throat ached, and he still had to lean against Spock for support if he wanted to stand upright. He wasn't about to take any more time off, however. "Good to see you again, Scotty, old man. Ready to get out of here?"

"Yes sir, Captain!" Scotty replied with a grin, as cheerful as ever.

"Mr. Spock, please escort me to the bridge."

The Vulcan hesitated. "Captain, are you sure that's wise? Perhaps you should rest in your quarters until morning, at least."

"Nonsense." Kirk hooked an arm tighter around Spock's neck and pulled himself as straight as possible, ignoring the spots twinkling in his peripheral vision. "Just get me to my chair and I can direct things from there. I'll rest once we're finally headed after Bones and Uhura."

"Very well." Spock reached around Kirk's back and hooked his fingers in the captain's belt loop, steadying his dizzy friend. They ignored Scotty and the crewmen's stares as they walked through the hissing doors to the transport bay and along the blue carpeting of the Enterprise hallways. "Jim," Spock added quietly once there was no one around, "are you concerned about the Federation's reaction to this? You had specific orders to stay at the Earth station. And they will not send any ships to help… it will be just us against an entire Klingon army."

"If you doubted our chances you wouldn't have come after me." Kirk glanced up into the other's dark eyes and grinned. "Besides, when have I ever worried about orders?"

"You are correct." Spock exhaled loudly in what would have been, were it anyone else, a sigh. "I simply thought it pertinent to remind you of the consequences of failure before we begin this mission."

Kirk dropped his head onto his outstretched arm. It was weighing more and more heavily the farther they walked. From that angle, near Spock's blue sweater, he caught a whiff of grass and sweat and motorcycle fumes, on top of a faint musky odor that reminded Kirk of expensive cologne. It all smelled very masculine. "I've got you on my side. I don't have to worry about anything else," Kirk answered, very quietly.

Spock stiffened, so Kirk knew he had heard, but he didn't have time to wonder what Spock's response would be because by that time they had reached the bridge. He forced himself upright and let go of Spock for the few seconds needed to walk onto the bridge and collapse in his chair. "Good evening everyone. I trust you haven't been slacking off while I was away?"

"Captain! Welcome back," Sulu greeted warmly.

"Yes Captain! We were doing everything you wish, sir! No 'slacking off.'" The curly-headed Chekov, overenthusiastic as always, practically leapt from his chair at Sulu's right and saluted Kirk.

Kirk, who by this time had his head propped comfortably on his chair's leather headrest, smiled slightly. "Keep up the good work, then, Ensign." He reached over and pressed the communication button on the armrest of his chair. "Enterprise crew, this is Captain James Kirk. I'm about to give some orders that some of you may disagree with. If you feel that the mission we are about to undertake is unacceptably risky, or if you would rather comply with the Starfleet administration's regulations instead of your captain's orders, I grant you permission to leave right now without fear of disciplinary action."

Sulu and Chekov had spun in their chairs to face Kirk, their eyes – as well as the rest of the bridge crew's – wide in curiosity and disbelief. Only Spock, who stood to Kirk's left with his hands clasped behind his back, showed no emotion. "Captain, do you mean…" Chekov gasped.

Kirk nodded. "We're going to find our ship's Chief Medical and Communications officers. They are currently somewhere in Klingon airspace, and since the Federation has informed me that it would be too dangerous to attempt a rescue; and in fact, expressly forbid the Enterprise to go after two of its finest crew members, we can expect no help from them. We'll be on our own, probably against an entire fleet of enemy Klingons, with nothing but this ship and our wits to protect us. But these are our friends; we can't just leave them to die. I can't. The Enterprise takes care of its crew; its family. I'm going after them. Anyone who does not wish to join me, report to the transport bay now so Mr. Scott can beam you back to Earth, or wherever else you choose."

Kirk pressed the button again, ending the transmission. He glanced around at his bridge crew, none of whom moved. "If anyone wants out of this, now is the time." The crew looked surreptitiously around at each other, but still no one moved, and slowly a grin crept onto Kirk's face. "Alright then, people, to your positions. Chekov, set a course for Klingon space. And keep us hidden as much as possible."

"Yes, sir!"

"Mr. Sulu, full speed ahead. We've got to make up for lost time."

* * *

The moment Bones and Uhura had left for the Klingon vessel, Kirk had hightailed it back to the bridge, Spock hot on his heels. Neither one of them wanted to keep that ship out of their sight for any longer than absolutely necessary. The elevator ride back up felt like the longest Kirk had ever experienced, and its usually soothingly clean white lights seemed harsh and irritating. Kirk glanced sideways to see Spock's dark brown eyes staring straight ahead at the elevator door. He figured the other was worrying about Uhura.

"I'm sorry I had to send her out."

Spock turned his solemn brown eyes to meet Kirk's. "There is no reason to apologize; I understand the necessity of the Lieutenant's mission. Your actions are logical."

Typical Vulcan response. Kirk wondered if they ever got sick of all the logic. He sighed inwardly but just clapped a hand on Spock's shoulder on his way out the elevator doors, which were, thankfully, finally opening. He strode out onto the bridge, issuing orders as he stalked toward his chair. "Yellow alert, people, let's keep on our toes. Mr. Sulu, keep that ship on our screen. Chekov, I want you to keep a lock on Bones and Uhura; monitor their status at all times."

A chorus of "Yes, Captain's" answered Kirk. He reached his chair but didn't feel like sitting down – too restless, he supposed – so he paced back and forth in front of the screen between Sulu and Chekov. He watched the ship floating seemingly innocently for a few seconds before turning to say something, he didn't know what, to Spock, but Spock had gone to his position at one of the monitors near the back of the bridge instead of standing by the captain's chair like he normally did. Kirk couldn't pinpoint exactly what the reason was, but his stress level was shooting up by the second. He was getting nervous.

Kirk pushed the communication button on his sweater. "Bones, status report."

No answer.

"Bones, you there?"

Still nothing.

"Sulu!" Kirk called out to his lieutenant though he glanced back toward Spock, who rose from his chair, the two exchanging a solemn look from across the bridge. "Any reason why the communicators would be malfunctioning?"

"They should be functioning normally, sir, though there is always a chance something on the Klingon vessel could be causing interference."

"Not much of a chance, I'd bet," Kirk muttered under his breath. "Chekov, report! What's going on over there?"

"Vital signs are normal, Captain, although…"

"What?" Kirk barked.

"Brain wave and heart patterns are decreased in both officers, sir. It's almost like… they're sleeping."

"Sleeping?" Kirk spun to face Spock again, his eyes widening. "They've been stunned! Red alert! All hands to their stations; something's not right over there!" He raced to his chair and frantically began pushing buttons, giving orders left and right. He had to get everyone out of there, and quick. "Scotty!" Kirk cried through the communicator. "Beam them —"

An enormous impact rocked the ship before Kirk could finish the order. "Captain, we're being attacked!" The ship rocked again and machines all over the bridge starting beeping frantically, alerting crew members of various areas of impact.

"From where?" Kirk cried in frustration. The cruise ship on the screen hadn't moved a centimeter and it certainly wasn't shooting photon torpedoes.

"From behind, Captain!" Chekov answered him, just as another racking boom rocked the ship.

"No, that shot came from the left!" Sulu argued. "Shields at sixty percent!" The bridge rocked again. "Forty percent!"

Kirk rose to his feet again, bracing himself for another impact. "What's going on out there?"

"Captain," Chekov gasped, "Klingon vessels are de-cloaking .5 kilometers ahead."

"They're behind us too, Captain," Sulu added grimly.

"It was a trap." Kirk stood absolutely still for a moment, overwhelmed by the horror of what he'd done. "Perform evasive maneuvers now! Get us out of here!" Just then, as shocks from the Klingon torpedoes rocked the Enterprise, the cruise vessel in front of them vanished, whisked away faster than the speed of light.

"One of the vessels has gone into warp, sir," Chekov reported unnecessarily.

"Shields at twenty percent. Heading into warp speed now, Captain," Sulu said.

"Scotty!" Kirk shouted into his communicator. "Bones and Uhura are still on that ship! Get them out of there, now!"

"I can't, Captain," the Scotsman replied miserably. "Transporting two people between two ships traveling in warp speed in two different directions… It's more than I can do. I'm not a miracle worker, sir."

"Well, take us out of warp then."

"Sir, our shields are barely functioning. We can't handle another impact; we need to get out of here now," Sulu put in.

"Bones," Kirk whispered.

"We can't save him, sir," Scotty's voice said through the communicator. "I'm sorry."

Kirk buried his face in his hands. "Yeah. Me too."

* * *

"We should be arriving in Klingon airspace in less than twelve hours, sir. Not much to do but wait now," Sulu told Kirk, after the crew had worked in silence for a few moments.

Chekov piped up as well, as eager as usual to be useful. "We're set to come out of warp behind one of the moons in the farthest planet of the Klingon solar system, Captain. That should give us a chance to observe the situation before we're seen."

"Good job, both of you," Kirk answered. He felt eyes boring into him from his left side and swiveled the captain's chair to see Spock had left his post and was standing beside Kirk, looking at his captain with a critical eye.

"I recommend that you take this time to rest, sir."

"Nah, I doubt I'll be able to sleep anyway. Don't worry about me; I'll be fine." Kirk waved Spock off with a placating flick of his wrist.

He shouldn't have expected that to work, though. Spock cleared his throat and continued, slightly louder, "Need I remind you, Captain, of the stress your body has been through in the past few days, especially this past night?"

Sulu did a double take and Chekov stared with eyes growing almost into his curly bangs. Kirk scowled at them. "As you were," he snapped.

Spock persisted, ignoring the others. "You have had a dislocated shoulder, were strangled to the point of fainting, and have worried for days about the condition of the doctor and lieutenant, not to mention your state of inebriation earlier tonight."

Chekov couldn't resist one more wide-eyed glance at Kirk, though the captain chose to ignore it. "I wasn't 'inebriated.' It takes a lot to get me drunk," he protested instead.

"Regardless, you still need to rest and recover, sir," Spock argued.

Deciding that he wasn't going to win this one, Kirk gave in. Plus he really was tired, even though he didn't want to admit it. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll be in my quarters for now. I want to be paged the second anything out of the ordinary happens, though." His crewmen nodded in acknowledgement, and Kirk added as an afterthought, "Also, since it seems like things will be quiet for awhile, I want the rest of you to switch shifts with your relievers if you can. I want everyone rested and in top shape when we catch those Klingons."

Then, amid the buzz of the crew following his orders, Kirk left the bridge with Spock close behind. When the elevator doors closed behind them, Spock commented, while looking straight ahead, "It would be advisable to have sickbay examine your injuries."

"Nah, I'm just bruised up." Kirk rubbed the tips of his fingers gingerly against his throat.

"There might be more extensive injuries from the motorcycle accident," Spock contradicted. "Nurse Chapel could –"

"I'm fine, Spock. Besides, going to sickbay is no fun without Bones around to lecture me. There's nothing wrong with me a long nap and a hot shower won't cure."

Spock bowed his head. "Very well, Captain."

The Vulcan gave up the argument at that point, but he insisted on walking with Kirk all the way back to the captain's quarters, which Kirk allowed because he still felt the tiniest bit dizzy; plus it felt rather nice to have someone worry about him. Not that Spock would ever admit to experiencing an emotion like that. Kirk quickly typed in the password to enter his chambers on the wall console by the door, then stepped through the red sliding doors with Spock still on his heels. The doors closed behind them and Kirk raised an eyebrow. "Something I can help you with, Mr. Spock?"

The other regarded him for a moment. "Jim… I must confess to curiosity. What made you go to that Earth bar in the first place?"

Kirk sighed and plopped down to sit on the bed, tugging off his dirty, grass-stained sweater before he replied. "You should know the answer to that already." He tossed the sweater on the floor and started pulling off his black undershirt as well, wincing as his sore shoulder twisted. "That's where I grew up. I needed to get away, just for a few hours at least. Away from Starfleet and the assholes who wouldn't help us save our friends."

The undershirt landed on top of the sweater and Kirk twisted his head to examine his shoulder. A massive purple bruise covered the shoulder and upper arm. "After we got away from that ambush and called for help… and stupid Admiral Pike ordered us back to the Earth base instead of helping – or even letting us chase them ourselves…" Kirk prodded the bruised area and hissed at the pain. "I just got so fed up that I took off. I don't see how Pike could do that; Bones and Uhura are his friends, too."

Warm hands moved his aside and began gently inspecting Kirk's injured skin. "Admiral Pike was likely afraid of losing you in a Klingon attack as well. As much as I know he values Nyota and Doctor McCoy, your safety is more important to him." Spock's fingers traveled lightly along the bruises on Kirk's arm and throat; then pressed more firmly on his chest and sides, checking for cracked ribs.

"Vulcans. Always so damned logical."

Spock made a sound in the back of his throat that was almost a laugh – or it would have been if Spock ever laughed – and Kirk twisted his head to look at the dark-haired man bending over him. "You do not seem to have any injuries, Captain, other than the bruising," Spock informed him, meeting Kirk's eyes so that their faces were mere centimeters apart. Kirk could feel the other's warm breath against his cheek.

"Spock?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you came after me."

"As am I." The Vulcan straightened and dipped his head to his captain. "I will leave you to your rest, sir."

"Good night, Spock."

"Good night, Jim."

Spock walked out through the sliding red door and Kirk flopped backward onto his bed. He was asleep within minutes.

* * *

Bones McCoy woke up with a splitting headache in a dank, smelly, alien prison cell. His cellmate was a beautiful long-legged woman in a miniskirt, however, so things weren't all bad. He sat up, wincing and rubbing his temples, from where he had been lying propped against a sticky black wall. "Uhura, you awake?"

"Yeah," she answered. She had those long legs, half-covered in black knee-high boots, stretched straight out in front of her and her arms crossed across her chest. Her head was bowed, chin tucked against her throat, and she didn't lift it to look at him.

McCoy glanced around the room, taking in the surroundings. He sat against the back wall, Uhura to his right, and with their legs extended their feet nearly touched. In the far corner to his left there was a small hole which, judging from the stench, was their toilet. Directly across from him was an empty space where the fourth wall should be, across which stretched a glittering forcefield. He could see a gray carpeted hallway beyond the forcefield.

"Where are we?" he asked his current cellmate.

"I'm not sure." She finally lifted her head and met his gaze. "Marga stunned both of us. When I woke up we were here and they had taken our suits and all our equipment. I don't know if it's the same ship or not."

"Of course they would take all my medical supplies," McCoy grumbled.

"And our weapons," Uhura added crossly.

"And those." McCoy examined the room again, climbing to his feet to get a closer look at the ceiling. As he'd hoped, he spotted the square steel ceiling tile of a ventilation system. "We have to get out of here. Jim'll be coming after us, I'm sure, so we just need to find a shuttle and get off this ship."

"What makes you so sure he'll come after us?" Uhura climbed to her feet and walked the depressingly short distance across the cell to see what McCoy was studying. "Klingons are extremely dangerous and there's no way of knowing how many were involved. If the captain has any sense at all he'll call for help and I doubt the Federation would give it." She stopped, seemingly pondering her words. "You're right. He doesn't have any sense. We better find a way to meet him before he puts the Enterprise against every Klingon ship in the galaxy."

McCoy grinned at her, pleased when she returned the sentiment with a small smile. "Do you think if you stood on my shoulders you could pry off that vent?" he asked.

Uhura reached behind her head to the clasp of her ponytail and pulled out some sort of metal pin. "Absolutely."

Raising an eyebrow but deciding not to ask questions, McCoy knelt down so she could climb onto his back. "Come on, then; we don't know when someone'll come to check up on us."

She nodded resolutely and knelt on his upper back, reaching for his hands to steady herself enough to plant a foot on each shoulder. "Okay, you can stand up. And you better not look up or I'll have to kill you."

"I don't usually use survival situations as a chance to look up girls' skirts, but for you I'll make an exception," McCoy retorted, climbing slowly to his feet. And, to his credit, he hadn't even thought of trying it until now… though now it was pretty much the only thing on his mind.

McCoy gritted his teeth as Uhura's boots dug into his shoulders and raised his arms, grabbing her ankles to hold her steady when she let go of his hands. Their huffing breaths and the steady click-click of Uhura working on the vent screws were the only sounds for the next several minutes. "Okay," she eventually panted, "I think I've got it."

With that the vent swung forward and hung in front of her, leaving enough space for her to stand on her toes – murdering McCoy's shoulders in the process – and stick her head and shoulders into the ventilation shaft. "What's it look like?" McCoy called after her.

"It's a tight squeeze," she admitted. "I don't think it'd hold you but I could probably make it. I can see another opening not far from here; I could crawl through and try to disarm the forcefield from the other side."

"Good work, Lieutenant," McCoy praised, as his eyes started drifting up the legs spread over his head. They really were very nice legs...

Uhura stomped on his neck. "Ow! What was that for?" he cried, letting go of one ankle to rub the side of his neck.

"I could feel your head moving. I told you not to look –" A tremendous clatter made them both jump and Uhura nearly fell off McCoy's shoulders, only steadying herself at the last second by grabbing the sides of the vent shaft. "What happened?"

"The vent fell. Quick, get down; someone will have heard that." Sure enough, the sound of heavy boots echoed along the hallway toward them. McCoy helped Uhura jump down and hurriedly shoved the vent door against the wall behind him. He grabbed Uhura's arms and jerked her against his chest; hissing, "Play along!" in her ear when he felt her start to struggle.

"There, there," he said in a loud voice, "It'll be okay, Nyota. We'll get out of this place, I promise. I won't let those bastards hurt you." Holding her flush against him, he kicked the vent hidden on the wall behind them, making a clatter similar to the previous one. "Let us out, do you hear me?" he shouted.

Two heavily armed guards stopped in front of the cell door and watched McCoy's performance for a few seconds; then made some guttural, grunting sounds at each other and left. McCoy sighed in relief.

"Are they gone?" Uhura asked, her face buried in McCoy's shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Good." She stomped on his toe.

"Ow! What is wrong with you, woman?"

"That's for trying to look up my skirt."

"But I didn't even get to see anything good— Ow!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: **Thank you again to everyone who reviewed or alerted this story. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

It wasn't that Jim Kirk objected to taking advice; he listened to it, even respected it, from time to time. He just knew when he was right, and was arrogant enough to admit it. Admiral Pike had meant well, if Spock was right and he was trying to put Kirk and the Enterprise's safety ahead of the hostages', but well-meaning or not he was wrong. Kirk wasn't sure exactly what he would do once he found the Klingons, and he was certainly worried about the rest of the Enterprise crew, but he did know that his current course was the right one.

After several fitful hours of sleep Kirk had thrown on a fresh uniform and headed straight for the bridge, only to be told by Sulu's sleepy-eyed replacement, Luciano Ramirez, that they still had at least an hour of warp travel ahead of them. Kirk had watched the stars sweeping by like streaks of white paint on black canvas and listened to the routine beeps and hums of the bridge machinery before the wait had become too much and he just had to walk.

His feet had led him without conscious reason to Spock's quarters, where he stood for a few long minutes in front of the door without knocking. Kirk knew he shouldn't take his hardworking first officer from his much-needed rest, but it was the first time since the Enterprise had taken its unwanted detour back to Earth that Kirk had felt truly alone. He was just beginning to realize how much the warm, quiet presence of the stoic Vulcan meant to him and his peace of mind.

Before he had resolved what to do, the doors slid open, revealing Spock wearing a clean sweater and an almost-expression of curiosity. "I thought I heard someone in the hallway."

"Yeah, hey." Kirk scrubbed the back of his head. "I didn't wanna wake you up." _I think I needed you,_ were the words he left unsaid.

"You did not wake me. I was preparing to go to the bridge."

"Not much point. Ramirez told me it'd be awhile before we even came out of warp."

"I see. Were you coming to tell me this?"

"Not exactly." Kirk let out a low huff of air. "I guess I just wanted some company. Been brooding too much."

Spock nodded and stepped out into the hallway, falling into step with Kirk as the sandy-haired man headed off to walk the halls again. They walked in silence until, as if by some unspoken agreement, they turned into the observation deck, which was currently dim and empty and provided an uninterrupted view of countless warp-streaked stars. "You know, people are already saying I'm a great captain," Kirk said as the two watched the sky.

Spock tilted his head in question and Kirk continued. "But it's not really true. I may have good instincts but I'm mostly just lucky. Lucky enough to get a great crew, anyway."

"That is true," the black-haired alien assented with an almost-smile. "The Enterprise is excellently outfitted."

"If it wasn't for all of you…" Kirk shook his head, messy brown hair flapping against his forehead. "Bones has been by my side, been my best friend, since I started in Starfleet. I doubt I would've got half as far as I did without him. And now, if I didn't have you around, Spock, I—"

Kirk's communicator chirped, interrupting him, and he pressed it. "Yes?"

"Captain, we're due to come out of warp in the next fifteen minutes. You'll probably want to be on the bridge when we do," Sulu's voice informed him, echoing slightly in the empty observation room.

"Yeah I do, thanks, Mr. Sulu," Kirk answered. He ended the transmission and clapped Spock on the shoulder. "Thanks for listening. Now let's go get this over with."

They walked quickly and silently to the bridge, where the level of anticipation had risen into an almost tangible feeling. The bridge crew worked diligently at their stations, all staring intently into flashing, beeping screens and talking quietly with their associates. Ramirez leaned close to Sulu's console, the two men nearly bumping foreheads as they discussed the information on the monitor in front of them.

"Welcome back, Captain," the ever-cheerful Chekov greeted in his heavy accent. "We'll be coming out of warp in six minutes."

"Thank you Ensign," Kirk replied, nodding at Spock as the Vulcan left for his station. "Any readings so far?"

"We will arrive roughly ten thousand kilometers from the Klingons' major space station; risky, yes, but our position behind the moon should mask us as much as possible. We'll be at a prime location to investigate, sir." Chekov's nimble fingers whirred over his console as he answered, double and triple checking his information.

"Good work, Mr. Chekov. Sulu, Ramirez, anything else I should know?"

The sleepy-eyed Hispanic man gave him a solemn glance. "Our ship's sensors have already detected four ships in the area; three docked at the station and one apparent military vessel. We're very much outnumbered."

Kirk nodded slowly. "I expected as much. This will have to be a stealth mission; the second we spot the ship that took Bones I'll take an away team to scout it."

Straightening respectfully and smoothing the wrinkles from his red uniform, Ramirez offered, "Captain, I have years of experience in guerrilla warfare tactics."

"Perfect. You're in. Sulu, I want you, too – and Spock. Chekov, it'll be up to you to keep the Enterprise out of sight."

"Yes, sir!" Chekov and Sulu chimed simultaneously.

"Taking us out of warp, sir," Sulu added, and Kirk strode forward a few steps until he stood directly in front of the view screen. The streaking stars slowed to steady glowing drops, and a black moon dotted with snow-white craters rose into view. As the moon grew, slowly filling the screen, the Enterprise eased upward, gaining the sight of an enormous metal structure, blinking lights illuminating its flat, circular surface. At three separate dips in the circular metal alien ships cozily reclined, one of them the enormous, mostly glass monstrosity that had started all Kirk's trouble four days ago.

"There it is," Chekov breathed.

"That's it all right." Kirk took a deep breath and pressed his communicator. "Scotty, get ready to beam us out."

* * *

"Alright I've got a good grip, I think. Now get your hands under my feet and give me a push."

"I always liked my women bossy, you know," McCoy quipped, but tightly gripped the boot that rose, shakily, off his shoulder. A second boot, attached to Nyota Uhura's long and shapely brown leg, mimicked the first and McCoy grabbed it and lifted them both as high as he could. This resulted in Uhura's head and shoulders disappearing into the ventilator shaft, where the rest of her body followed after a lot of grunting and clanking noises.

McCoy watched her butt wriggle under that short skirt as she went. He knew he shouldn't look at women who were taken – especially by superhumanly strong Vulcans – but still. He liked the ladies. Even when they took him for all he was worth. "You see anything?" he called.

"Yeah," her voiced echoed, muffled and tinny, from inside the vent shaft. "There's another opening up close… I think it comes out in the hallway. Do you think you can distract the guards while I open it?"

McCoy grinned his best roguish white smile. "Can do, ma'am."

He heard some more clanking as Uhura got into position. "Okay, I'm ready," she called.

McCoy saluted the ceiling, his hand continuing back to rake through his slightly dirty mop of brown hair. He then strode to the front of the cell, stood a few mere centimeters back from the buzzing forcefield, and started screaming. "Hey! Hey! Let me out of here, you ridge-headed monkeys! What the hell do you want from us? Come and talk to me, you dirty bastards!"

From this position he could see the Klingon guards, posted several meters down where the hallway intersected some main pathway, making a T-shape of dull gray carpet and white walls. The two men, phasers in their hands and menacingly curved blades hooked to their belts, turned as one and looked toward where McCoy continued to yell obscenities in their direction. They glanced at each other and headed toward the screaming doctor.

"Step away from the forcefield, prisoner," one said, his accented voice rumbling deep in his chest.

"No! I want to know what you want from me! Kidnapping a Federation officer – or two Federation officers – is a serious offense! I hope you assholes know what you're dealing with!" McCoy shook a fist at the guards, hoping he looked at least a little more menacing than he felt, which was not very threatening at all.

From the amused look the guards shared, he didn't think he had succeeded very well. "You are here under Senator Marga's orders. That is all you need to know. When she is finished with you she will decide what should be done with you."

"Finished with… what does that mean?" McCoy demanded, feeling his face grow red as his stress level shot up. "And wait, Marga is a _senator_?"

"I am tiring of your questions, human. Step away from the forcefield and keep quiet," the guard snapped, and the two stepped closer, clearly meaning to intimidate.

"Wait," the other spoke up for the first time, his eyes flitting over the dark cell. "Where is the female?"

McCoy shrugged his shoulders, grinning ruefully and giving the guards his best big brown puppy eyes. "She, uh, had to use the little girls' room?"

"What little girls? We have no child prisoners!" the first guard roared.

"You know," McCoy crouched in on himself a bit and covered his crotch with both hands, bouncing around a bit to mimic a small child who needed to urinate, "Answer the call of nature? Pay a visit to the porcelain gods?"

"We do not have time for this nonsense, human! Where is the woman?" the first guard demanded, aiming his phaser between McCoy's eyes.

"I think he is referring to the release of waste fluids, sir," the second guard said, eyeing McCoy – who had straightened and raised both hands in a placating gesture – thoughtfully.

"He is lying! There are such accommodations in the cells!"

"Accommodations. Right," McCoy echoed, wrinkling his nose as the second guard's phaser joined the first in aiming at his skull. He closed his eyes – and snapped them open again when a vent screen hit the floor with a carpet-muffled boom and Uhura came swinging out of the ceiling boots first.

She managed to kick one of the guards in the back of the head on that first swing, sending him toppling into the other and knocking them both off balance. The guards, and, thankfully, their weapons, hit the floor at the same time as Uhura, who landed like a tigress perfectly balanced on both feet. One guard stumbled quickly up only to be swept off his feet a second time by Uhura's rapid punch to the back of his knee. Then, faster than McCoy could even count to three, Uhura grabbed a phaser, set it to stun, and had both guards snoozing away on the floor.

McCoy gaped at the scene in front of him for a moment before finally meeting Uhura's smug face. "Remind me never to piss you off," he said decidedly.

* * *

"Are you sure you must go, Captain?" Scotty pleaded in his rough brogue, his accent even thicker in agitation, turning 'you' to 'ye' and slurring his vowels. "Can you not simply hail them, man? Fight from here if you must? I don't want to lose any more men through this thing." He gestured toward the transport pad, where Kirk and his away team stood resolutely.

"Sorry, old man. This is the only way we stand a chance. We have to do this if we want to save our shipmates," Kirk answered.

Scotty sighed a little and nodded, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth tightening determinedly. "Aye. I understand, Captain." Scotty's eyes flicked down to the console in front of him, where he made some adjustments as he spoke. "I'm aiming to put you somewhere there'll be no one around, but keep alert anyway."

"Always do." No one around… Kirk was sure he had heard _that_ one before. Still, he nodded briskly and watched with a steady heart while Scotty's face and the crisp white transporter bay faded into something dark and alien. This was what he had come all this way for, and he was determined to do his best.

They landed on the Klingon ship in the center of a dimly lit hallway, the monotonous white of the ceiling and walls broken at regular intervals by sliding doors painted the same dull gray as the carpet. The air felt stuffy and strangely heavy, emphasizing the overwhelming silence surrounding them. "Looks like this place has seen better days," Sulu muttered.

A quick glance to Kirk's left confirmed that Spock was still beside him, the others standing a few paces behind. He noticed the Vulcan already had a tricorder in his hand and was busily scanning the premises, so Kirk stepped a little closer and tilted his head to look at the readings, his forehead brushing the soft tendrils of Spock's dark bangs. "What have you got?" he murmured quietly.

Brown eyes flicked upward to meet Kirk's, though otherwise Spock didn't move. Keeping his voice low, he answered, "Not much. I have scanned for life forms, but show surprisingly few aboard for a ship this size. Of course, one cannot expect complete accuracy from these results."

"Right. Are you picking up anything close?"

Long pale fingers tapped the tricorder screen for a few seconds before Spock replied. "Yes, I am detecting life forms nearby. There will most likely be sentries at the end of this hallway."

Kirk straightened and turned to the two men behind him. Ramirez held a phaser at the ready, his heavy eyelids narrowed in a fierce expression, and Sulu's linking sword had already been drawn and extended. "Are you ready, men?" Kirk whispered, pulling his phaser from its holster on his hip.

They nodded, and Sulu and Ramirez swept silently in front of their commanding officers, Sulu's back hugging the left wall while Ramirez mirrored him on the right. Kirk followed them after a moment, fleetingly distracted by a pleasantly warm sensation against his back when Spock's back pressed against his for an instant from shoulder to hip. Turning his head a fraction, Kirk could see Spock with his phaser drawn, walking backward a dozen or so centimeters behind Kirk to keep watch on the hallway behind them.

Kirk tried not to think about the way the touch had made his heart race. Now was not the time for such things.

"Captain, there are two men up ahead," Sulu called in a harsh whisper. "Should we take them out?"

Kirk quickly swallowed the lump in his throat. "Do it."

Sulu inclined his chin and gestured to Ramirez, who moved with a panther's stealth and skill behind the Klingon guard stationed at the corner, and had a hand over his mouth and a phaser in his back almost before Kirk could blink. The guard crumpled to the ground and his partner, seeing him fall, opened his mouth to cry out words that never came. His eyes rolled backward and he followed his partner to the floor, Sulu's sword in his gut.

The Asian man grimaced and yanked the blade back out, using the guard's shirt to wipe the Klingon's blood from his sword. "I hate casualties."

Kirk let out a breath through his nose and grunted in agreement. "Necessary evil," he grimaced. "Spock, any thoughts on where Bones might be hiding in this hunk of metal?"

"The doctor and Lieutenant Uhura will mostly likely be housed in prisoners' quarters, which as you know are typically located in the front lower levels in standard Federation ships. However, I am uncertain if this practice remains the same in Klingon vessels, specifically recreational types."

"'Recreational' ships don't usually have guards at the end of every hallway, either, Mr. Spock," Kirk quipped. He stopped and heard Spock's steps behind him pause for an instant as well in consideration, the Vulcan's body heat warming his back even from a few centimeters away.

"You are correct, Captain. I recommend, therefore, we descend to the vessel's lower levels and begin our search there."

In spite of himself, Kirk grinned. "You heard the man. Let's find a lift."

The four men stepped around the bodies of the Klingon guards and, after a quick deliberation, continued down the new hallway heading left. Remarkably, they reached a transport lift without encountering any more guards. It was like Spock said – the ship was strangely deserted.

Kirk watched Spock's pale, ever-calm face as the Vulcan fiddled with the lift's controls. The intensity of his concentration reflected in Spock's brown eyes as he worked, and Kirk thought to himself that Spock revealed quite a bit of emotion, after all, if one knew how to look for it. It was strangely fascinating…

Just then the doors slid open, though, and the moment was gone. "Good work, Commander," Kirk praised, hurrying into the lift with the other three men. "Guess we'll just take this a floor at a time."

Spock nodded once and pressed a button, and the lift whirred to life, the floor seeming to sink under them as they descended to the next level. Kirk held his phaser at the ready, the others mimicking him. Even Sulu had traded his sword for a phaser he had swiped from one of the guards; apparently he would rather stun than kill, which was definitely alright from Kirk's point of view.

A matter of seconds later and the doors were opening again, revealing about a dozen surprised-looking Klingons. Kirk barreled through the door with the others hot on his heels, stunning the first two guards and dodging the blows of others who raced to join their fallen comrades. Spock's back pressed against Kirk's once again as they fought, sending a rush of relief and enough adrenaline through Kirk's body to give the captain strength to yank a wickedly curved blade from the Klingon in front of him and clock him on the head with it.

"Looks like we came out on the wrong floor," Kirk panted over his shoulder. A burly Klingon with a braided beard leapt over his unconscious friend with a roar, clipping Kirk's shoulder with a curved sword longer than his arm. Kirk hissed in pain but ignored the bleeding wound long enough to shoot the Klingon with a phaser. His attacker landed in a heap on top of the other man.

"It would seem so." Spock had a pile of Klingons at his feet, too, and was currently fighting two at once. Kirk dispatched one with a phaser shot to the head aimed from just above Spock's pointed right ear. "Thank you, Jim," the Vulcan said as calmly as if Kirk had passed him the salt, and grabbed the second Klingon by the neck, causing the man's eyes to roll back in his head and making him fall over, instantly unconscious.

"You're welcome."

"_No_!" A jagged cry of pain tore from Sulu's throat and Kirk and Spock whirled around to see the Asian man with his sword out, attempting to fight off a Klingon while dangerously distracted. "Ramirez! Ramirez, no!"

Luciano Ramirez lay on his back in front of the lift doors, his sleepy eyes closed forever. Shockingly red blood oozed from a gaping wound at his throat and sank into the carpet underneath him. "No…" Kirk stumbled forward and fell to his knees, barely noticing as Spock dispatched the Klingon fighting Sulu with a phaser shot to the back.

As soon as the man fell, Sulu rushed to Ramirez's side, placing two fingers at a pulse point on his friend's bloody neck and confirming what they all already knew. "He's gone."

Kneeling in the center of a room filled with dead and unconscious men, Kirk bowed his head. From behind him, Spock fleetingly touched his shoulder, sending reassurance through warm fingertips. A hoarse whisper made its way out of Kirk's suddenly raw throat. "Mr. Sulu, please take him back to the Enterprise. I don't want anything to happen to his… to him."

"Yes, sir," Sulu answered glumly and tapped his communicator. "Mr. Scott, two to beam up, please." He and Ramirez disappeared in a glittering swirl of lights, leaving Kirk and Spock the lone beings awake in the now-quiet room.

Running a hand through his sandy brown hair and wincing when the action pulled on his wounded shoulder, Kirk climbed unsteadily back to his feet. "Three crewmen lost in four days; that's gotta be some kind of a record," he muttered glumly.

"I highly doubt that, Jim. Also it is unlikely that Lieutenant Uhura and Dr. McCoy are currently deceased, since the Klingons appear to have gone to a great deal of trouble to capture them."

Slightly reassured by Spock's cool, matter-of-fact tone, Kirk curved his lips in the smallest of smiles and glanced over to meet the other's dark eyes. "Yeah. Hence the rescue mission, huh? I can't figure out what they would want with Bones, though. It doesn't make much sense, does it?"

An accented female voice spoke up from behind them, Kirk recognizing it instantly although she had spoken Klingon the last time he'd heard it. "Perhaps we just needed a doctor."

* * *

McCoy was having a very bad week. Kidnapped, attacked, forced to act like an idiot to distract even bigger idiots, and repeatedly kicked by an annoying woman's very sharp boots... And now said annoying woman was leading him around, cuffed like a prisoner while she held a phaser at his back, which was wrong on so many levels. McCoy had spent way too much of his life being led around by women, as far as he was concerned.

"Damn you, Jim," he muttered, more out of habit than anything else. Usually when inconvenient things happened to him Jim Kirk was somehow to blame.

"Keep quiet," Uhura hissed, her chin tucked under the collar of the Klingon uniform she had stolen from one of the guards. "We don't want to draw any attention to ourselves."

"We'd draw less attention if we were _both_ dressed like Klingons," McCoy grumbled.

"There's no way you'd pass for a Klingon. This is the best we could do. We were lucky enough to deactivate that forcefield without setting off an alarm."

"Yeah, true," McCoy agreed, thinking of how Uhura had used the guard's phaser to blast the forcefield generator outside their prison cell. He'd been impressed until she'd held up a pair of laser-light handcuffs and told him her disguise idea. "Does it seem strange to you that we haven't seen anyone yet? This place is really empty to be so big."

"You're right," Uhura replied thoughtfully. "We're probably still on the same ship, then. It seemed deserted when we first landed."

"Probably."

They were silent for the next few minutes, pondering their situation as they trudged through empty hallway after empty hallway, looking for something that might possibly lead them to an escape shuttle. Eventually, however, their luck ran out and they met a burly trio of guards clustered around a sliding door. They instantly pointed phasers at McCoy and spat some guttural Klingon words in his direction.

Uhura answered them in their language, and after a few tense moments of conversation the guards stepped aside to clear the path to the doorway. She nudged McCoy forward through the door, which opened as they stepped through, but gasped in surprise when the guards followed close behind her. She quickly hid the gasp as a cough and swore under her breath. "Shit."

"What's going on?" McCoy muttered.

"I told them I was taking you to see Marga. They said she was this way so we had to go… I didn't know they'd follow us," Uhura whispered.

"Great, just great." McCoy hung his head, brown bangs shading his eyes. "Escape from two only to get stuck with God knows how many more."

"I didn't know what else to say!"

"I know. Don't worry, we'll think of something." He sighed. "Just so you know, you've been great, Nyota. I couldn't have gotten half this far without you. You're really—"

McCoy was cut off by the angry voice of one of the Klingons, and Uhura jabbed the phaser between his shoulder blades. "Silence, prisoner!" she commanded, mimicking Klingon-accented English. But she slid her other hand into one of his and squeezed.

McCoy was touched. Especially when he felt the handcuff key she had hidden in his palm.

One of the Klingons said something and Uhura translated under her breath. "She should be through this next door, with her personal bodyguard. Get ready."

McCoy, who had already unlocked the handcuffs and held them loosely behind his back, nodded once in acknowledgement. He took in a deep breath as they walked through the door – only to let it out in surprise at what he saw. Klingon bodies littered the floor, a dozen at least, and in the center stood Marga, looking cool and collected in an elegant purple dress with her hair braided down her back. She glanced back and smiled when she saw them; then turned back to face the two other men standing in the center of this chaos.

Commander Spock and Jim Kirk.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n: **Better late than never, right? This last chapter accidentally got deleted off my computer and it took me quite awhile to work up the desire to rewrite it. But it's finally done, so I hope you guys all enjoy the ending.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

A wash of emotions scurried through Bones' head like he hadn't felt since his ex-wife had knocked him over the head with her shoe. Fear, surprise, anger, relief – he shook his head to clear it and blinked a few times, but Jim Kirk was still standing there, in the best and worst possible of places, with his Vulcan sidekick behind him. Yeah, that sounded about right. Good to know he wasn't hallucinating.

"Jim!"

"Bones!" The two of them cried out at the same time, his captain stepping forward and reaching out a hand, as if McCoy would take it and the two of them would go strolling away into the sunset.

The Klingons behind them calmly aimed their phasers at Kirk. "Thank you, gentlemen," said Marga, just as composedly. "Captain Kirk, I suggest you don't make any more escape attempts at the moment." She clapped her hands together. "Well. It is wonderful to have you three together, though. We have much to discuss."

Kirk did a double take at her words and Bones saw his eyes land on Uhura, who stood frozen behind him in her ill-fitting KIingon gear. So the disguise was working, at least for now. After a brief second of surprise Bones saw a familiar glint in his friend's eye and he knew Jim was going to work the situation to his advantage. "What could I possibly want to discuss with someone who kidnapped two of my best officers?" Kirk snapped. "Oh wait, I know." He snapped his fingers. "Maybe _why the hell you kidnapped two of my officers_?"

"There is no need for sarcasm, Captain." The senator replied, serenely as ever, and clasped her hands together at the small of her back, a sign she was preparing for a long speech. Bones watched as Kirk signaled Spock with nothing more than a shift of his eyes, and the Vulcan began inching, almost imperceptibly, toward Marga.

"I told you we needed a doctor, and it was the truth," Marga continued. "You have probably noticed how few crew members are aboard this ship. I'm afraid this is the case with much of the planet. There is… I believe the word is an epidemic. A disease has claimed millions of Klingon lives, and continues to spread. It is unlike anything we have ever seen, and none of our doctors seem to have any hope to cure it. My councilors and I have decided to procure a Federation doctor. We heard they were the best." She turned to Bones and granted him a bitter smile.

"Why didn't you just ask for help?" Kirk demanded. Spock was nearly directly behind Marga now.

"Klingons do not ask for help," she replied disdainfully. "Your doctor was needed. We procured him. That is all. His life was in no danger – at least, if he provided the assistance we requested."

"Your guards killed one of my men! Ramirez is dead!"

Bones recoiled and he heard Uhura make a tiny gasp of horror. Poor man; he could have made a good officer someday.

"One of my guards is dead as well, is he not? It seems to me that the Federation doesn't have such a high regard for the sanctity of life as it claims."

"We only kill when our own lives are in danger! We don't _kidnap_ people and murder their rescuers."

"I suppose that is where we differ, then, Captain. First and foremost, Klingons protect their own." She nodded her head and the guards aiming at Kirk discharged their phasers.

* * *

Kirk ducked a fraction of a second before the phasers went off and the lasers hit the wall behind him with a dull thud and a sizzle. "Spock, now!" he cried, spinning toward the senator and the Vulcan behind her, who was poised to grab her neck in that nerve-pinch move. He heard fists connect to his right and knew Bones and Uhura were taking out the last of the guards – Kirk didn't know how she'd ended up in that disguise but it was brilliant – so he focused on Spock.

The black-haired alien lifted his palm – and went flying. Marga pulled out a blade the length of Kirk's arm she had hidden along her back and slung it backward, knocking the Vulcan in the chest with the blunt end and ruining his chances of dropping her. "Spock!" Kirk screamed as his first officer's head hit the floor with an audible thunk.

Spock lay very still after that.

"No!" Kirk aimed his phaser at Marga, shooting off rounds as fast as he could, all of which she gracefully avoided using some sort of Klingon military training that looked like dancing. Kirk saw red. He rushed at Marga, fists and kicks flying, barely noticing as she cut him over and over with her sword. "What did you do to him?" he demanded, finally landing a fist to her chin that knocked her off balance, which he immediately followed with a kick to her gut. "Why can't you just," he kicked her again, "leave…" Another kick. "…my friends…" A punch. "alone?"

Marga knelt on the floor, her head bowed, as Kirk pummeled her over and over. The sword clattered from her fingers but Kirk still saw a haze of red. "You evil bitch," he panted. "How dare you…" He slammed his fist into the side of her head and watched from what seemed like a long distance as blood dripped from his knuckles. "…hurt Spock?"

"Jim! _Jim!_" Bones was calling his name, and then he was dragging Kirk away by his armpits when Kirk still fought to get at that disgusting woman who had kidnapped Bones and hurt Spock. Maybe killed Spock. Oh God, what if Spock was dead? He lunged forward, fighting to get free from Bones' hold, but though his friend's fingers slipped on the blood streaming down Kirk's chest, Bones held on. "Jim! Stop! It's over. It's over. You win. We've just got to get out of here now."

"It's over?" But it couldn't be. Spock still lay so very still on the floor in front of him. Bones, however, held him tight and seemed to have no plans of letting go, so Kirk sank to his knees and touched the communicator on his bloody, torn sweater. "Scotty? We found them."

"Wait!" Marga, who still knelt bleeding on the floor, lifted up her proud face to Kirk, showing him desperate eyes that flooded with tears. "Please. Please wait. My daughter… she's so sick."

Kirk looked at her for a long moment; then spat out blood that had somehow pooled in his mouth. "Fine. We'll call a damn doctor. But you're not getting Bones."

With that, his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

* * *

Bones had been cleaning up Kirk's messes for a long time – ever since he had met the guy, in fact – so he would think the job would get easier, or at least less annoying. Getting stuck holding an unconscious Kirk in his lap over a pool of Kirk's blood, in a room with a bunch of stunned or injured aliens and two crazy women, however, was really, very annoying. "Aw, damn it, Jim, did you have to pass out _now_?"

One of the crazy women, Uhura – who was actually starting to grow on him – touched his shoulder and smiled. "We did it, Bones." She leaned over him and touched the communicator on Kirk's chest. "Mr. Scott, are you there?"

"Uhura!" The tinny voice coming out the speakers offered a heavy Scottish brogue, the best way to tell if Scotty was upset or excited. "You're ok! How about the doctor?"

"I'm here, Scotty. Kirk and Spock are both unconscious though. Some rescue team, huh?"

"I'm locking on to you right now."

"Please," Marga begged again, trying to rise but sinking to the ground again, holding her side where Kirk had kicked her.

"Hang on, Scott. Add one more to that. We've got a Klingon visitor coming." Bones eyed the bruises welling under the dark skin on her face. "Better beam us all to sick bay, too."

"Can do." To his credit, Scotty didn't even ask for details.

The next image Bones saw, after the glittering multicolored lights that were a staple of teleportation faded, was his sick bay crowded with what looked light every crew member aboard the Enterprise, all of them shouting and shoving and otherwise getting in the way. "There they are!" one shouted. "They're alright!"

"I don't know about that," another drawled, a hint of Texas in his voice. "The captain's awfully bloody."

"What are you all doing here?" Bones snapped. "Get the hell out!"

"The doctor's back!" An extremely loud and annoying cheer followed that comment, and the mass of crewmen swarmed Bones, all trying to pat him on the back and welcome him home; which was rather difficult to do since he still held Jim's bloody body against his chest.

"What," Bones ground out through gritted teeth, "is wrong with you people? Can't you see we have a situation here?"

Klingon-accented English answered him. "I think they are happy to see you, Doctor McCoy." Marga chuckled humorlessly but quickly stopped, an almost unnoticeable wince evidencing the pain the motion caused. The senator still knelt on the floor a couple of meters in front of him, only now her back rested against one of the sickbay beds. Bones almost felt sorry for the woman; brought so quickly from pride to fear and pain and captivity aboard an enemy ship.

Well. He almost felt sorry for her. After all, he had been in a similar situation himself, once upon a time.

"Okay, that's enough, people," Uhura shouted, effortlessly taking charge of the situation. Bones was starting to think she was a useful person to have around. "Someone get Nurse Chapel in here to help Dr. McCoy, and we need a security team immediately to keep an eye on our Klingon guest. Everyone else, back to your stations. And clear a path to the bridge; I need to file a report."

Uhura watched the peons scatter and laid a gentle hand on Bones' shoulder. "You ok? Can you handle things here?" When he nodded, she turned cold eyes to Marga. "I'm going to contact Admiral Pike and inform him that the Klingons have officially requested Federation assistance in wiping out this disease on your planet. He's going to ask you to make a statement; then he'll probably take you into Federation custody for kidnapping and attempted murder. It would be in your best interest to cooperate."

Marga looked down at the floor during the whole of Uhura's speech, her brown hair, which had come loose from its elaborate braid, hanging over her ridged forehead in straggling wisps. But when the senator lifted her head, she met Uhura's eyes with a proud, tight-lipped stare. "And my daughter?"

Uhura softened slightly. "We'll do our best to help her."

"Then do what you must."

The women nodded to each other and Uhura stalked away. Glad to be back in his sick bay and the drama – mostly – taken care of, Bones allowed himself a moment to watch her butt wiggle under her miniskirt as she walked out the door.

* * *

Kirk opened his eyes to a haze of white that slowly cleared into the Enterprise ceiling. From the way his body felt carefully numb and the fuzziness that threatened to reclaim his brain into a drugged sleep, not to mention the fact that he wore only his underwear and lay on his back in a hard bed with a scratchy blanket, he could only surmise that he was in the sick bay. Opening his eyes as wide as possible to keep from sinking back into sleep, Kirk tried to recall the circumstances that had landed him here.

He had been on a rescue mission… Uhura had dressed as a Klingon… and Bones had pulled him away from – "Spock!"

Kirk shot straight up in bed, all sorts of alarms beeping around him as his heart rate spiked and he fought to get free of the stickers and tubes jammed into his arm. "Spock! Where's Spock?" He ripped the IV out of his hand and leaped to his feet, swaying dizzily when his bare heels hit the carpet.

"Jim! _Jim!_" Bones came tearing around the corner and grabbed Kirk's arm before he fell. "Get back in bed!"

Kirk didn't want to comply but he did anyway, since his legs were threatening not to hold him upright anymore. He sat on the edge of the bed and gripped the metal armrest that protruded from the side. "Spock! Please, where's Spock?"

"He's fine. Jim, he's _fine_. Lie down before you kill yourself."

A surge of overwhelming relief poured through Kirk and he actually followed the doctor's orders, stretching out on the bed and plopping his blond head on the regulation white pillow. "Where is he?" Kirk asked, allowing his eyes to close for a few brief seconds while Bones stuck needles back in Kirk's arm.

"Glad to see you're so concerned with my welfare," Bones quipped, but he grinned. "Spock got a nasty lump on the back of the head but he's already working again. He's talking to all the higher-ups trying to get you out of trouble. Since you saved me and Uhura and caught a nasty Klingon in the process, I think they're gonna forgive you."

"I'm concerned with your welfare," Kirk muttered, wincing when Bones jabbed the IV back in his vein. "Is all this really necessary?"

"You lost an awful lot of blood. Not to mention all the trouble it took me to close up those damn sword cuts. So yeah, it's necessary." Bones glanced at him from under the brown bangs that shaded almost all the expression in his eyes. "By the way, thanks. For saving my life."

Kirk shrugged, careful to avoid pulling the shiny new skin along his bare shoulder where Bones had healed his cuts. "Looks like I could say the same to you. I could have done a lot better at rescuing you guys; too many people got hurt for my taste." He closed his eyes again, only to quickly reopen them when the sight of Spock lying cold and still on the floor filled his vision.

Bones cleared his throat and changed the subject. "You know we brought Marga back to the ship? She's in a holding cell, but the Federation's having talks with her about a medical mission to help the Klingons. Looks like Captain Kirk is gonna bring peace between the Klingons and the Federation."

Kirk snorted. "Yeah, like that could happen." He could feel the heavy weights of sleep slowly dragging him into oblivion and reached for his friend's hand, squeezing it tightly. "I'm really glad you're okay, Bones."

Bones squeezed back. "Yeah. Same here."

* * *

When Kirk's eyelids fluttered open again, he could still feel the warm pressure around his palm from Bones' fingers and he squeezed them, only for the hand covering his to jerk away guiltily. Curious, Kirk forced his eyes to focus until he saw that the dark-haired figure sitting beside him wasn't Bones at all, but Spock. His heart skipped a beat – Spock had been holding his hand.

"Are you awake, Captain?" the Vulcan asked softly, worry evident in his dark eyes, though his face remained as smooth and expressionless as ever.

"Spock." Kirk grinned slowly and sat up, careful not to dislodge any of Bones' instruments this time. "You're alright."

Spock nodded. "I am unharmed. Captain, I must apologize for my failure to apprehend the target. It was my error that resulted in your injuries, and I have been contemplating appropriate methods for you to issue my reprimand, if you would like to hear them."

Kirk shook his head, chuckling. "Spock, you can't actually think that you did anything wrong. If it weren't for you, Bones and Lieutenant Uhura would probably be dead."

Spock's eyes narrowed. "But you were injured, Captain. Any situation in which you may be hurt is simply – "

"Unbearable?" Kirk – momentarily astounded by his own bravery – reached for Spock's hand again, gripping it tightly between both of his. "Spock, I thought you were dead. You don't know… You can't know how that felt."

Much to his surprise, Kirk felt Spock's long fingers curl around his, just for an instant, before the Vulcan withdrew and sat ramrod straight in his chair, both hands folded as tightly as possible in his lap. "I am only half human, and therefore I am uncertain whether I am capable or even willing to experience the entirety of human emotions. The emotions that I have felt, however," Spock hesitated, a show of weakness so unlike the stoic Vulcan that Kirk's heart leapt with hope, "I assure you, I have felt most deeply."

Kirk's heart was pounding now. He was surprised that the monitors hadn't picked up on it, but he supposed that it wasn't actually beating faster; just harder and more painfully since the depth of emotion buried in his chest made the poor organ have to struggle to do its job. Suddenly he couldn't bear to sit in bed for another instant and he climbed to his feet, ignoring the sound of protest Spock made and grabbing the wheeled IV so he could pace without ripping out any more needles. Judging from the red liquid inside the bag, Bones was still refilling Kirk's blood.

He must have lost a lot; maybe that had something to do with the crazy way he was feeling right now, though he doubted it. Ever since he had first awoken back on the Enterprise, Kirk was consumed with the feeling that he wanted Spock; he wanted him more than he had even wanted anything, and even though Spock was standing in the same room, less than a meter away and watching him with more concern than an expressionless Vulcan should be capable of, it wasn't enough. Had anyone asked about their relationship four days prior, Kirk would have said that Bones was his best friend, though Spock was a close contender, but it wasn't true; not then and not now.

Spock was… something else. Something important. "If you had died," Kirk said slowly, still pacing, making small circles around the center of the room until he came to a halt in front of Spock. "If you had died… It would have killed me."

Spock put out a hand as if to touch Kirk's arm but stopped, leaving his open palm hovering in the air. His wide, dark eyes met Kirk's and lingered for a long moment before he broke their gaze and looked down, nodding.

Oh, God. He was in love.

Kirk stood there watching as Spock fought down the terrifying waves of emotion that had been battling both of them for the better part of a week, as they had thought they'd lost two close friends and come so horrifyingly close to losing each other. The relief – the _joy_ that had speared through him when he saw that Spock had survived had to be so much harder on the half-Vulcan who had lived his entire life trying to feel nothing, though the warmth that had wrapped around his hand hinted to Kirk that Spock felt something similar.

Kirk had always tried to be a brave man. At the very least, he was impulsive. So he reached forward with the hand unhampered by needles and grabbed the back of Spock's head and pulled him in for a kiss. As Kirk had expected, the other stood frozen and unresponsive for the first few moments; but then, amazingly, _wonderfully_, Spock responded.

It reminded him of the first time he had fought to drag emotion out of Spock, when he had insulted Spock's mother until Kirk ended up thrown over a console and nearly choked to death. The emotions that the Vulcan fought so hard to hide had lingered, barely controlled, under the surface until they exploded, all the more powerful and meaningful from their long containment; except this time, instead of strangling Kirk, Spock kissed him back.

The Vulcan placed one hand on Kirk's cheek and the other, delicately, around Kirk's bare side, careful not to harm any of his captain's still-healing wounds, but the lips that met Kirk's were forceful and demanding, opening his mouth for an exchange of tongues that sent tingles all through Kirk and pulled an unmistakable moan of desire from Spock. Kirk pulled tighter on Spock's neck as the kiss heated into a clash of lips and tongue and teeth and their bodies melded together, igniting a frenzy of arousal in them both.

Neither heard the hiss as the door to sick bay slid open. "Aw! Come on! Damn it Jim, I really didn't need to see that."


End file.
